


i wanna be your vacuum cleaner

by arysa13



Series: prompts filled (bellarke) [42]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Best Friends, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Humor, Jealousy, Love Confessions, Possessive Behavior, Roommates, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:54:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26439061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arysa13/pseuds/arysa13
Summary: Clarke accidentally gives herself a hickey with the vacuum cleaner, and it makes Bellamy kind of jealous.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Series: prompts filled (bellarke) [42]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/592417
Comments: 108
Kudos: 446
Collections: Bellarke smut





	i wanna be your vacuum cleaner

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bellsclarkes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellsclarkes/gifts).



> happy birthday alondra! hope you have a lovely day xx

Clarke has decided that’s the last time she’s ever going to try cleaning. Not that she did it that much before—she works long hours at the hospital, and the last thing she feels like doing when she gets home from work, after spending hours on her feet, is picking up a mop, or a vacuum, or even her clothes from her bedroom floor.

Bellamy does most of the cleaning. Clarke will quickly wash her breakfast dishes if she has time, and she occasionally does a load of laundry, but Bellamy does the lion’s share, and he never even complains about it.

But it’s his birthday, and Clarke has the day off, while Bellamy has to work. Normally Clarke spends her days off sketching or catching up on reading or tv shows, but today, she’d decided to clean. She wants to show him she’s not a complete mess of a person.

Except it had kind of backfired, because there had been a mishap with the vacuum cleaner, and now she’s sporting an unsightly suction type bruise on her neck. So she’s more of a mess than ever, really.

She’d taken the attachment off the end of the vacuum cleaner to find out why it wasn’t sucking properly, and then she’s been distracted by a text, from Bellamy no less, (so really it’s kind of his fault), and put the tube thingy under her arm to hold it while she replied, and the next thing she knew she was in a wrestling match with the vacuum, trying to get it off her neck. At the time it was painful, now it’s just embarrassing.

She put the vacuum away after that, leaving the house a mess. It’s what Bellamy would expect anyway. He’s going to laugh his ass off when she tells him what happened. It’s a good thing she likes his laugh so much.

He gets home around five, dumping his stuff in their shared work-slash-study-slash-art space, before he comes to see her in the living room. She loves his school-teacher look. Button-down with the sleeves rolled up, his arm muscles threatening to bust the seams. She’s sure every student in his class must have a crush on him. She certainly does.

She decides not to say anything about the bruise, and wait for him to notice it. She doesn’t expect it to be the _first_ thing he notices.

“Is that a hickey?” he says, stopping dead.

Clarke laughs. “I guess it is, in a way.”

Bellamy isn’t laughing. “I didn’t know you were seeing anyone,” he says, frowning.

“Are you offended I didn’t tell you about my secret love affair?” she jokes, and for some reason, he’s still not laughing. Is he really that annoyed she supposedly didn’t tell him she’s seeing someone? “Bellamy,” she huffs. “I’m not seeing anyone. I got it from the vacuum cleaner.”

“The vacuum cleaner.”

“Yeah, I was vacuuming, and—”

“ _You_ were vacuuming?” he rolls his eyes. He finally joins her on the couch. “Please, Clarke.”

“It’s true!”

“Who is it, really?” he says. “You can tell me. I won’t spread it.”

“Bellamy. I swear it was the vacuum cleaner. That’s just how much of a mess I am, that I can’t even use a vacuum cleaner properly. I put it away right after because I decided me and vacuuming don’t mix.”

“Uh huh,” he deadpans, still clearly not believing her. “Fine, don’t tell me,” he scowls. He launches himself back off the couch. “I’m going to go shower. Don’t forget our reservation is at seven.”

He stalks off, and Clarke stares after him, bewildered. She has no idea why he won’t believe her, or why he’s so annoyed about it, or how to make him realise she’s telling the truth. Perhaps he just had a bad day at work, and once he’s had a couple of drinks he’ll relax and they can laugh about the whole thing. Otherwise she’s going to have to give herself another vacuum cleaner hickey just to prove it.

-

She tries to cover it with make-up, since they’re going out, and it’s an extremely ugly and enormous bruise on her neck, but the make-up can only do so much. It just makes it more obvious that she’s trying to hide it. A scarf wouldn’t exactly go with low cut dress she’s wearing either.

Forever punctual, Monty and Harper are already at the restaurant when Clarke arrives with Bellamy. He’d been kind of sullen on the drive over, still obviously annoyed about the hickey thing. She’d tried again to assure him she wasn’t hiding anything from him, but she’s given up now. He can be impossible sometimes. She just has to leave him be until he’s decided to stop sulking.

He seems to perk up as their other friends arrive, filling up the table for eight, and setting birthday gifts in the centre, though Bellamy had specifically requested no gifts. Except, even as they order, and their meals are brought, he won’t stop _looking_ at it, whenever he thinks she’s not paying attention. She’s always paying attention to him though, so the joke’s on him.

She can feel him glance at her neck every thirty seconds, silently seething. She can’t fathom why. Even if it was from a real person, is she not perfectly within her rights to do that? And keep it from him, if she really wants to? Sure, they’re best friends, but she doesn’t have to tell him _everything_. She kind of thought he was more understanding than that. He usually is.

It seems she’s not the only one who notices his weird mood, or the fact that he can’t keep his eyes off her neck.

“Bell, why do you keep looking at Clarke’s neck?” Octavia asks with a mouth full of pasta.

“I’m not,” Bellamy mutters, flushing as he takes a sip of his drink.

Jasper, who has a better view than Octavia of said neck, butts in. “She has a hickey,” he says. Also with a mouth full of food. Clarke groans. She glances at Bellamy, staring steadfastly at his drink, his knuckles white around it, his jaw clenched.

Octavia’s eyes light up gleefully, and she’s immediately up out of her seat to inspect the hickey in question. “Oh my god, Clarke,” she laughs. “That’s got to be the biggest hickey I’ve seen in my life. Who’s the lucky person?”

“It’s a secret,” Clarke says. She so doesn’t feel like telling all her friends she got a hickey from a vacuum cleaner. Sad and pathetic much? Let them think she has an active sex life for once.

Bellamy snorts. “She told _me_ it was the vacuum cleaner.”

Clarke shoots a glare at him. Way to sell her out. But it doesn’t matter, because no one else believes the vacuum cleaner story anyway.

“Clarke has a secret _lover_ ,” Jasper sings, and Clarke finds herself turning red, which is stupid, because it’s not even _true_.

“Aw, Bell, what’s wrong? Are you jealous?” Octavia cackles. His face is a dark red, the same colour Clarke is sure her own face is.

“Of course not,” he huffs, but he won’t look at her.

Clarke’s heart misses a beat. _Is_ he jealous? Is that what this is all about? He’s not annoyed at her because he thinks she’s keeping secrets from him—he’s annoyed because he thinks someone else is giving her hickeys, and _he_ wants to do it. The thought thrills her, and the more she dwells on it, the more she’s sure it’s true. It would explain a lot.

“Can we just drop it?” Clarke says.

“Fine,” Octavia agrees, migrating back to her chair. “For now. I’m going to find out who this secret lover of yours is,” she says mischievously.

Clarke just shrugs, content with the knowledge that there’s nothing to find out. Besides, she has more important things to think about now—like how to get Bellamy to admit he’s jealous and fucking do something about it.

-

She decides to stick with the hickey thing. She doesn’t know if it’s kind of a kink of his, or if he just doesn’t like the idea of someone else marking her, but either way, it gets her hot.

The vacuum cleaner was kind of painful last time, so she decides to stick with her own mouth, and while Bellamy is at Miller’s playing poker and she has the apartment to herself, she sucks on her wrist until she leaves a blazing red mark. Then she decides to make another one right next to it for good measure.

She doesn’t see him until the next morning, and the bruises on her wrist are a satisfying purple colour. She heads for the kitchen, still in her pyjamas, where she can hear him making coffee.

She has a couple of ideas about how to properly flash her wrists at him to get him to notice the hickeys, but it proves to be unnecessary. He notices right away, as she reaches for the coffee her offers to her, his eyes flashing, his nostrils flaring. She had no idea he paid so much attention to her. Clarke exults in his reaction—he really is jealous. She brings her cup to her lips to hide her satisfied smirk.

“I suppose those are from the vacuum cleaner too?” he says, sounding bitter.

Clarke turns her wrist out to look at the hickeys, as if she’s just noticing them for the first time. “Would you believe me if I told you I put them there myself?”

He snorts. “Right.”

“Seriously, what’s your problem?”

“I just wish you’d tell me. I don’t get why you can’t be honest with me. Is it someone really embarrassing?”

“That’s not it,” Clarke says. “You’re not normally so nosy about my personal life.”

“You don’t normally make such a big deal about keeping it a secret. Making up weird lies about vacuum cleaners,” he huffs.

“It really was the vacuum cleaner.”

Bellamy rolls his eyes. “Please, Clarke, even you aren’t that hopeless.”

Clarke pouts. She doesn’t know whether to be happy he doesn’t actually think she’s capable of a mistake that idiotic, or offended that he still won’t believe her.

“You’re being weird.”

“ _You’re_ being weird.”

“So if I told you who gave them to me, would you be happy?” Clarke asks.

“Yes.”

“Fine,” Clarke says. “It’s one of the nurses at work. Maya.”

She’s sure Maya won’t mind being part of the lie if she happens to find out about it. Especially if it leads to Clarke getting Bellamy to admit he’s jealous, and then some hot, rough sex she can brag about at work.

Bellamy scowls. “Great,” he says, and he doesn’t even sound like he’s trying to pretend to be satisfied.

“Are you happy now?”

“Ecstatic,” he says, and then he stomps out of the kitchen like a sulky child. Clarke can’t bring herself to feel guilty. He brought this on himself. If he’d just believed her about the vacuum cleaner, he wouldn’t be tortured by jealousy right now. And next time, Clarke is absolutely going to push him until he admits it.

-

She waits a couple of weeks before she gets another opportunity. She has to wait until he’s going to be out, and then she can pretend Maya came over while he was gone and they had hot, steamy, possessive sex. Honestly, the thought kind of makes Clarke laugh, she imagines Maya would actually be extremely vanilla in the bedroom.

Bellamy says he’s going to a basketball game with Miller. He’ll be gone for a few hours.

“Okay,” Clarke says nonchalantly. “I might invite a friend over.”

Bellamy stiffens. “Maya?”

Clarke shrugs. “Maybe.”

Bellamy hesitates by the door, looking torn, almost like he’s considering staying home.

“What?” Clarke says, even though she knows exactly what. But _he_ doesn’t know she knows that.

“Nothing,” Bellamy sighs. “I’ll see you later.”

He makes his exit, and Clarke waits a few seconds before latching her mouth to her wrist. She’s going to try and make them even bigger and darker this time. She’s so focused on her task she doesn’t hear him come back in, doesn’t notice him standing there watching her, until he clears his throat.

Clarke tears her mouth away from her wrist, staring at him with wide eyes, her cheeks blooming with hot colour.

“What are you doing?” Bellamy asks.

“I thought you were leaving,” Clarke says, dodging the question.

“Forgot the tickets,” he explains. He’s still staring at her, and Clarke squirms under his questioning stare. “Were you giving yourself a hickey?”

“I—” she swallows. God, this is embarrassing. More embarrassing than the vacuum cleaner thing. Still, she tilts her chin up haughtily, like she’s acting like a completely normal person, and he’s the weird one for questioning her behaviour. She has to save face _somehow_. “Well, I did _say_ I gave them to myself. You didn’t believe me.”

“So you pretended it was Maya?” he says, raising an eyebrow. Clarke shrugs. “ _Why_?”

“I told you, you wouldn’t believe me, and you kept hassling me so—”

“No, why are you giving yourself hickeys?”

“Oh,” Clarke says. She bites her lip. He is absolutely not going to get her to admit she was trying to make him jealous. Not until he admits he _was_ jealous. He has to cave first. “I was just practising.”

“Practising?”

“Yeah, you know, some people like being marked,” Clarke says. “I want to be good at it.”

“That is the stupidest thing I ever heard. Almost as stupid as you getting a hickey from a vacuum cleaner.”

“That was _true_!”

He laughs, and Clarke feels her stomach clench. He really does have the best laugh.

“Yeah,” he says, grinning. “I’m beginning to realise that. Did you do that on purpose too?”

“No,” Clarke pouts. “It was an accident. And you still haven’t told me why you cared so much.”

“And you still haven’t told me why you were giving yourself hickeys.”

They stare at each other. A standoff. Clarke gets up off the couch and pads over to him. She folds her arms.

“I asked you first.”

“Real mature,” Bellamy mutters.

They stare at each other in silence, neither one willing to be the first one to break. Finally, Clarke turns away.

“I’ll get your tickets,” she says. “You’re going to be late.”

“Wait,” Bellamy says, catching her arm. She turns back to him. He licks his lips, searching her eyes for something—she doesn’t know what. Reassurance? He sighs, and she sees his armour drop. Her heart speeds up.

“I was jealous, okay?” he admits, his voice low, almost like he’s hoping she won’t hear him. “I was so fucking jealous when I thought someone else was giving you hickeys, when I thought you were sleeping with someone. I wanted it to be me.”

Somehow, even though she suspected it, his confession catches her off guard, and she stops breathing for a few seconds. He was jealous. He wanted it to be him.

“Now, please, _please_ tell me I haven’t completely misjudged this and fucked everything up. Please tell me you were _trying_ to make me jealous,” he begs, and the vulnerability in his voice, in his eyes, just makes her fall in love with him even more.

“I was trying to make you jealous,” she agrees. His grip on her arm tightens, and then he’s pulling her close, crushing his lips to hers. He kisses her possessively, makes her moan with want.

Her arms wind around his neck as she presses herself against him, kissing him back, deep and slow. His hands rub up and down her sides, like he wants to take it further, but he’s not sure if he’s allowed.

Clarke breaks her mouth away from his, but she keeps their faces close, keeps her arms around him.

“Bellamy, I—before we take this further. Since you were honest with me, I feel like I should be totally honest with you.”

He tenses up, and she feels like an idiot, because now she’s got him worried and that’s the _last_ thing she wants.

“I’m in love with you,” she says quickly. “I love you. Is that okay?”

Bellamy relaxes, and he lets out a shaky laugh. “More than okay,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to the bridge of her nose. “I’m in love with you too.”

Clarke beams, giddy happiness bubbling up inside her. “We’re in love,” she laughs.

“Yeah,” Bellamy agrees, and he’s laughing too, and then he’s kissing her again, swallowing her laughter. He lifts her up, and she wraps her legs around him, and he carries her towards his room.

He shuts the door behind them, and then she’s in his bed, and she’s already thinking about how now she can turn her room into her own art studio since she won’t be needing it to sleep in anymore.

Bellamy interrupts her future planning with his lips on hers, and then his mouth is on her neck, sucking, and it’s much more pleasant than the vacuum cleaner. A whine escapes her mouth as he sucks, then pops the skin from her mouth, only to move a little lower and start all over again.

“Bellamy,” she says, breathless. “What about your basketball game?”

He finishes making his second hickey, then looks her in the eyes. “Hm,” he says, pretending to consider. “As tempting as it is to watch a bunch of tall, sweaty guys chase after a ball, I think I’d much rather be here kissing the hot blonde I’m in love with.”

Clarke laughs. “What about Miller?”

“He’s great, but he doesn’t like it when I try to give him hickeys.”

“Who said I liked it?”

“You weren’t exactly complaining,” Bellamy points out. He leans close to her ear. “And you’re going to look so good with my mark on you. You better fucking tell everyone who gave them to you.”

Clarke feels a rush of wetness between her legs at his words. The possessive thing is hot. “Yes, sir,” she says, half joking. But she sees his eyes darken with want, and she knows it isn’t funny. “I’ll make sure everyone knows I’m yours, sir.”

“Good girl.”

Clarke preens. She may or may not have a slight praise kink. He seems to have caught onto that entirely more quickly than she imagined he would.

He kisses her again, and then he’s pulling her top off, and then his own. When he gets up to grab a condom, she hastily removes the rest of her clothes. No more wasting time.

“Hey,” he complains, even as he’s ogling her naked body. “I wanted to do that.”

“Next time,” she promises. “Right now I need you too much.”

That spurs him into action, and he sheds his pants and boxers so he’s naked too, and hard, and god, _huge_. Clarke squeezes her legs together, her pussy dripping, her mouth watering.

“Fuck,” she groans, as he gets back onto the bed. “I want you inside me so bad.”

He moans as he kisses her, his cock bobbing tantalisingly between them. She reaches for him, wrapping her hand around his thick cock, making his breath hitch. She guides him to her entrance, spreading her legs open for him, then allows him to push into her.

She whines as he stretches her, and her nails dig into his back. Hey, if he’s going to mark her, she should get to mark him too. In fact, she wants to mark him properly, like he marked her. And she has been practising after all.

She shifts her weight, and he lets her flip their positions, so she’s on top of him. Then she puts her mouth on his shoulder, and adorns him with her best hickey yet.

“All that practice paid off, huh?” Bellamy says.

“Shut up,” Clarke pouts. He darts up to kiss her, and then he’s rolling her over again, so he’s back on top, pinning her underneath him, stealing her breath away.

He sheaths himself in her, mouth covering hers. “God, baby, you feel so fucking good,” he moans as he pulls his mouth away.

“Mmhmm,” Clarke agrees. She feels so fucking full, and so complete with him inside her.

“I’m so happy you’re mine,” he continues, thrusting his hips rhythmically, building up speed. Clarke can hardly think. “Say you’re mine,” he tells her.

“I’m yours,” she says. “I’m yours.”

He fucks her hard, rough, the way she likes it. His teeth drag against her collar bone, his cock slams into her, again and again and again, until she’s right on the edge, and he slips a hand between them, circling his fingers over her clit to bring her over the edge, moments before he’s coming himself, and they’re in sync, clutching at each other, moaning each other’s names.

“God, I love you,” Bellamy says breathlessly, once he’s finished. Clarke smiles, giving him a soft peck on the lips. She gets to do that whenever she wants now.

“And I love you,” she says.

Bellamy gets up to dispose of the condom, and then crawls back into bed with her. “I can’t believe you were giving yourself hickeys,” he laughs, remembering. “And the vacuum cleaner? I don’t know how you managed that.”

“Shut up,” Clarke says, shoving him playfully. “You’re the one that was jealous of a vacuum cleaner,” she points out.

“Touché,” he snorts.

“What do you think Octavia will say when she finds out who my secret lover is?” Clarke asks.

“She’ll probably say, _that’s disgusting I don’t want to know_ ,” Bellamy grins.

But it turns out, what she actually says, when she finds out three days later, is, “Well, it was about fucking time.”

**Author's Note:**

> so i cried for three days, couldn't even look at his name without bursting into tears, then i took a walk in the rain and i guess that was the cure because i haven't cried since. i hope this fic can bring a little bit of joy to anyone who is still hurting.
> 
> a wise woman once told me these characters are completely ours now, and rosie, you're right. no amount of bad writing can take that away from us, so i'm going to keep writing, and i hope you'll all keep reading.
> 
> love, emily


End file.
